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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29175096">And I, well I found what's best for me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jazz_intown/pseuds/Jazz_intown'>Jazz_intown</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>And when the sky's falling apart, who will hold my hand? [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Arson, Gen, I miss the pogtopia arc, going mad, will i ever stop writing about villbur?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:27:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,514</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29175096</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jazz_intown/pseuds/Jazz_intown</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilbur wonders if it's possible to burn and freeze at the same time.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>And when the sky's falling apart, who will hold my hand? [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2122893</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>And I, well I found what's best for me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The ravine's cold, but Wilbur's colder. </p><p>The storm outside roars, but Wilbur's thoughts roar louder. </p><p>The fire burns, but Wilbur's blood burns brighter. </p><p>There he sits, the shadow of a general, next to a fire in a place that never will be his home, the only company a child that never should have gone here and a man whose victims can't be counted on ten hands anymore. The pathetic version of an once proud man stares into flames. His eyes are dark; not only because he's tired. A blizzard rages in them, ominous and tense. </p><p>He wonders if it's a bad sign for his mental health to see figures in the fire. </p><p>It probably is, he decides, but in the same moment he doesn't care. They're pretty, so what's the problem? Dancing in blazing dresses and sparkling suits. Their glaring eyes mock him. <i>Come to us. Stay. Embrace the warmth. Burn.</i></p><p>Maybe he's going insane. He's quite positive seeing people in the flames isn't healthy.</p><p>Without noticing he reaches for them. His fingertips hurt as he touches the fire for a second, but he doesn't feel it. He just so badly <i>wants to be warm again.</i> He hasn't been since those traitors got rid of him. </p><p>Maybe they are the people in the fire. He doesn't recognize the voices, but that doesn't mean anything because his memory is quite scattered since... certain events. They would deserve it. To burn. </p><p><i>That's a good metaphor</i>, he thinks, <i>they get to feel the warmth of the fire while I'm stuck outside and freeze to death. But in the end... I get the better end of the stick.</i></p><p>Wilbur might has a plan. </p><p>He remembers not much of what happened before the election <strike>he refuses to</strike>, but he knows of TNT. He knows of Dream. He knows of chaos and destruction and he feels an itching in the back of his mind that only grew stronger as the days grew colder. </p><p>He wants fire. </p><p>He <i>needs</i> fire. </p><p>
  <strike>I'm going to kill my friends.</strike>
</p><p>The thought leaves him in shock, for a second. He has it often, but they get lesser and lesser, because they aren't his friends after all. Eret is no friend; Wilbur remembers very well seeing their smirk in a room even colder than this one before feeling a sword slice through his abdomen. <strike>He remembers a kind voice, I could provide you sanctuary.</strike> Fundy is no friend; there is a picture imprinted in his mind, his own son with a pickaxe in his paws. <strike>There is a picture of glaring eyes, telling of secret books and spies.</strike> Niki... Wilbur had thought he could trust her, but he can't. <strike>He wishes he could.</strike> Damn, even his best friend has betrayed him by running to find shelter in another traitor's arms. Eret can't be trusted, and so Niki can't be as well. <strike>The memory of her smile, Wil, I made muffins for you, makes his chest hurt.</strike> He doesn't feel anything towards her anymore. She's just as grey as the others. </p><p>And then there's Tubbo. </p><p>If Wilbur's honest, the kid gives him a headache. Everytime he sees him there is pride blossoming, and the need to protect. He can almost say Tubbo's bringing back his old self - which is no good thing, because his old self cared way too much. But Tubbo... </p><p>Tubbo makes him scared. </p><p>Because Tubbo's with Tommy, and Tommy gets him to hesitate. </p><p>Wilbur darts up, sudden, almost as if he's heard something. As if he's scared. Is he scared? He doesn't know. His thoughts often blurr together, a black, screaming, drowning mess he just wishes to escape from. A few weeks back he was scared, yes, because he hadn't understood what was going on. Now he understands. He's going mad - he probably is already by now. The fact sounds more terrifying than it actually is. </p><p>
  <i>It's fine. The sky is blue, the ocean is deep, I think I've lost my mind.</i>
</p><p>Wasn't that a line of something important? He frowns, trying to remember but fails. It makes his head hurt, remembering. Even more than the desire to burn does. </p><p>If he ever dies, he hopes he forgets everything bad. </p><p>That wouldn't leave him with much, though. </p><p>
  <i>It would leave him with so much love and laughs and music.</i>
</p><p>Wilbur begins to wander around. He's restless, these days. His veins are on fire. He needs to move, can't stay still. He can't sleep, either. He thinks he's scaring Tommy with how he roams through the ravine, perhaps muttering to himself, who knows? He never hears himself talk. He never hears himself sing, either, but that's probably because he just doesn't sing anymore. </p><p>Yes, he's scaring Tommy. He's seen those blue eyes <strike>of his brother who he fails to show his love to</strike> stare at him in terrified silence. He's heard his crying. <strike>He wanted to comfort him, back then, but his thoughts had been too loud.</strike> Soon, Tommy will hate him. It makes something in Wilbur's throat feel weird, makes his chest heavy. He doesn't like that. <strike>He wishes he could just forget the regret.</strike></p><p>Tommy will hate and maybe even kill him. Wouldn't that be poetic? Being killed by the very same person who you swore to give your life for if necessary?</p><p>Wilbur wonders what death - the final death - would feel like. He remembers being scared, but now he isn't anymore. <strike>The shaking in his hands comes from the cold, he's sure.</strike> It must be... dark and peaceful and <i>warm.</i> If he has to die to feel warm again, he will do it gladly. </p><p>But before that, he needs to do what he desires so badly. He's a man who's got nothing to lose, so he can do what he wants, right? (That sounds poetic, he should say that to Tommy as soon as he explains his plans to him, just for the dramatics.) He has to follow his dreams someone once said, <strike>he doesn't know who but it makes him sad</strike>, so that's what he's going to do.</p><p>Wilbur dreamed last night.</p><p>L'Manburg stood in flames, crumbling until nothing but a crater was left. Everyone was screaming at him. He couldn't recognize anymore if they were real people or just his mocking thoughts. Niki cried. Tubbo didn't move. Eret was in shock. Tommy yelled and shot. And Wilbur had felt <i>so warm.</i> He remembers dying in that dream.</p><p>It would feel <i>so good.</i></p><p>He needs to do what is good for him, right?</p><p>He wants what's best for him.</p><p>And, well, he knows just what that means. </p><p>
  <i>Let it burn.</i>
</p><p>The darkness in the tunnels is cold and filled with ghosts of the past.</p><p>He could actually do that. Take a match and watch it lighting the place. Because, there is no point... </p><p>No point in doing anything else.</p><p>They've lost.</p><p><i>He</i> has lost.</p><p>
  <strike>He has lost his mind.</strike>
</p><p>
  <strike>He might have lost himself and everything he had been proud of being.</strike>
</p><p>Wilbur hates losing.</p><p>
  <i>Oh yes, let it burn.</i>
</p><p>The thought fills him with happiness.</p><p>A sudden laugh bubbles in Wilbur's chest - he doesn't really know why it's not that funny. There still is a way out of this miserable. The pure joy floods through his veins, makes his heart beat in dancing rhythms, and he almost feels <i>warm</i> for a second.</p><p>Wouldn't that be just perfect?! Just dramatic enough for him?! He feels his blood rise, his hands drumming. Death! Destruction! It's simple; they threw him out, not knowing what he had sacrificed for them, how much he had died, inside and outside, so they could be free. No one knows and no one did the same. So no one, <i>no one</i> deserves L'Manburg. <i>He</i> built the goddamn place so it wasn't going to stand without him. It was <i>his.</i> <i>His</i> pride, <i>his</i> life, <strike>his downfall.</strike></p><p>The silent laugh grows into a chuckle. They will burn.</p><p>
  <strike>Something inside of him freezes in fear. Yells at him for hurting his friends. Crying for help from the outside, someone please see his pain, hear his screams.</strike>
</p><p>
  <i>No one hears him.</i>
</p><p>Yes, they will burn. And he will with them. He will feel the fire dance on his skin, flatter him, he will see it everywhere. An ocean of flame devouring his unfinished symphony. <i>Nice reference. I'll keep that.</i></p><p>A grim determination takes over, sets his mind in stone. The bitterness in him turns into hatred, into flames. They'll see. They'll see. The story will be his drama, his tragedy. He will be the main character - but not the hero.</p><p>
  <strike>The little part in him is barely a whisper. The knowledge that this is wrong still itches in his chest.</strike>
</p><p>"Wilbur's lost his mind", he says it just to taste the sound of it, almost sings it into the cold darkness. It waits, grins proudly at him. It formed him into the monster he must be now. It waits. For words. But he doesn't fight with them anymore, doesn't need them anymore; he's got other ways.</p><p>"And he will hesitate no more."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Title from "little pistol" by Mother Mother<br/>I don't think this will be my last Oneshot about Wilbur... I'm just too fascinated by his villain arc and I still have to process that Niki's going evil as well...<br/>Thank you for reading! Have a nice day ^^</p></blockquote></div></div>
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